


The White Wolf and the Singing Cat

by Wren_The_Insomniac



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Near Death Experiences, No Smut, One Shot Collection, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wren_The_Insomniac/pseuds/Wren_The_Insomniac
Summary: This is a collection of one shots following Geralt and Jaskier, who is a Witcher of the Cat School. I’ll be doing my best to update once or twice a week, but I can’t make any promises. This is my first work, so any constructive criticism is welcome. Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Nine Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one shot was inspired by the artwork of @misscuddly_arts on Instagram! Go check her out, she's an amazing artist. We're off to an angsty start, but things will, hopefully, get lighter as the one shots continue. This is my first work on here, so any constructive criticism is welcome.  
> TW// Near Death Experience, Blood  
> Approx. 2K words

Jaskier was tall. If it wasn’t his armor that attracted attention, wanted or otherwise, it was his height. It gave him an advantage when he fought monsters. He had a long reach, so claws were less likely to hit him. Other sword wielders were also at a disadvantage. Daggers, however, those were a different story.

The journey from Oxenfurt to Novigrad had been a surprisingly calm one for Geralt and Jaskier. A high paying contract had brought the two together in Oxenfurt. A pack of Bruxae was terrorizing the students of the city. They met at the office of the city guard, both inquiring about any evidence or locations for the monsters. After a bit of quarreling, they became fast friends. One could hardly be found without the other.

Coincidentally, both were to go to Novigrad after completing the contract in Oxenfurt. Out of safety, they decided to travel the long road together. It was dangerous for a solitary witcher, but as a pair they were less likely to get attacked by bandits. Traveling with another person took getting used to. Jaskier loved to sing and play his lute while he walked. Geralt much preferred the quiet birdsong and occasional whinnies from Roach. At least, that’s what he told people. Anyone with a working pair of eyes could see the truth, however, in the way he would watch Jaskier perform at inns. He would get lost in his own little world at which Jaskier was the center. Soon, what with the performances and the pair’s efficiency with slaying monsters, they became somewhat well known. The White Wolf and the Singing Cat, they were called. Sometimes fondly, sometimes with disgust, it didn’t matter to the two of them.

They were less than half a day’s ride away from the Free City of Novigrad where they were to part. Jaskier was to go West to Kovir, Geralt East to Kaer Morhen. That fact weighed heavy on both of their minds. It was only coincidence that, for the past few days, they’d been going at a much slower pace than they had been. Coincidence and nothing more. The same went for their week long detours. Coincidence and nothing more. After almost two months on the road, they’d become comfortable around each other. They fought together, they ate together, and slept next to each other. Platonically, of course. It only made sense that they’d miss each other’s company.

After a long day of travelling, the pair set up camp in a small clearing. Their small campfire crackled in the moonlight. It was silent, something unusual for the two of them. Jaskier would always sing for a while after they ate, but he wouldn’t even look at his lute. He simply stared up at the sky. His eyes were unreadable, their usual warmth gone cold. Their golden hue had faded from a bright fire to untouched metal.

“Geralt,” he said suddenly, “Do you think we’ll meet again?”

Jaskier’s bluntness caught him off guard. The witcher bard was staring deep into his eyes.

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

Jaskier nodded and returned his gaze to the stars above. The distant silence consuming them once more. It was short lived, however, as Geralt stood and moved next to his companion, pulling him to his feet. Their chests were close together, hearts beating wildly. The firelight illuminated Jaskier’s flushed face. Geralt’s ears were tinged pink.

“Jask, I-” A cry from the forest interrupted him.

Bandits came running out of the foliage wielding swords, hammers, and clubs. The witchers had only a moment to arm themselves as their assailants began their attack. They met the bandits head on, but were outnumbered one to five.

The witchers moved like well oiled machines, blocking swings and attacking, alternating between offense and defense. They’d taken down half of the bandits when they left each other’s sides. It was almost easy for the pair.

A gasp left Jaskier’s lips as cold steel plunged into his side. He hadn’t noticed one of the bandits creeping up behind him. He’d been too focused on the two in front of him. In a rage, he turned and cut the bandit’s head clean off of his shoulders. The dagger was still in his side as he killed the other two bandits.

Geralt turned to him, a small grin on his face. His smile faded as Jaskier stumbled forward, his face pained. Geralt caught him and gently laid him on the ground, leaning him against one of the logs they’d used as a seat. He was frantic as he dug through his bag, searching for Swallow or anything that could help Jaskier.

“Geralt…” Jaskier mumbled.

“You’re going to be okay, Jask. Just keep breathing, you’re going to be okay,” Geralt replied, starting to panic. He had nothing.

“Geralt, please, come here,” the wounded witcher whispered. His voice was getting quieter and quieter with every word.

Geralt bit his lip and turned back to Jaskier.

He smiled gently, but it didn’t meet his eyes. Waving Geralt over to him, he tried to sit up. He cried out in pain as the dagger slipped out of his side. Geralt rushed over to him and pulled him into his arms. He pressed his hand to the wound and rocked back and forth.

“Geralt, it hurts,” Jaskier said, looking up at him.

“I know, Jask,” Geralt replied, swallowing hard.

“I guess we get to see if I really have nine lives, don’t we?” Jaskier, chuckled. In spite of his hollow laugh, he looked terrified.

“No, no, you’re going to be alright,” Geralt assured him, “I’m going to get you to Novigrad, to a healer. You’re going to be okay, just stay awake.”

Jaskier groaned as Geralt lifted him and put him in Roach’s saddle. He grabbed Jaskier’s lute and bag, tossing them into the saddlebag and racing off into the night. He could see the Free City’s spires in the distance and lights from the surrounding town growing ever closer. He could feel Jaskier’s faint heartbeat against his chest as he kept the taller witcher close, keeping pressure on the still bleeding wound.

He urged Roach on as a signpost advertising a new inn came into view. The Seven Cats. Geralt prayed that there was someone there who could help.

When he finally reached the inn, he practically jumped from the saddle and carried Jaskier in. The taller witcher was like a ragdoll, eyes rolled back in his head and barely breathing. Geralt kicked the door open, eliciting shouts from the barkeep who quieted as soon as he saw the state of the two.

“Is there a healer in here? Please my-he needs help, someone!” Geralt shouted.

A thin man rushed over and led Geralt to his room, instructing him to put Jaskier on the bed.

“What happened?” The thin man asked.

“Bandits, he got stabbed,” the witcher replied.

“Get me liquor and water. I have the tools necessary, but I need liquor and water.”

When Geralt brought the man what he needed, he was pushed out of the room, the door locked in his face. All he could do was wait, something he used to be good at. He could wait for days to see if a basilisk would return to its nest without any issue. This time was different. Every moment he waited, Jaskier could be dead. He could be gone, having never sung another verse, having never returned to Novigrad, having never known how Geralt felt. He was going to die alone, only some stranger that may not even be helping him in the room, and he wouldn’t even know.

Geralt walked back into the woods, clenching his teeth. When he knew he was far enough that no one would hear him, he let go. A guttural scream tore its way out of his mouth as he fell to his knees. He covered his face with his hands and, for the first time since he was a boy, started to cry.

He cried for Jaskier, for everything he wanted to say to the witcher who, in another life, would’ve been the most amazing bard. He cried for the voice he may never hear again and every verse he had already heard. He cried for the one who managed to steal his heart out from under him without having the slightest clue.

Dawn broke before Geralt returned to the inn. His stony facade had returned, despite there still being a redness in his eyes. The thin man was waiting for him, leaning against the door to the room. He had blood on his clothes and weariness in his eyes.

“He’s asleep, I can’t promise he’ll wake up, but if he does, he’ll be alright,” said the man, walking over to Geralt.

“How can I repay you?” Geralt asked.

“I’m a healer, I’m just doing my job. Although, a hot meal would be much appreciated,” the man said, taking a seat.

The witcher obliged and, after a nod of approval, ran to the room. When he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat.

The color had already started returning to Jaskier’s face. His chest rose and fell with deeper, fuller breaths. Bandages and gauze encased his torso, but he was still alive. He was alive and breathing. He was alive.

Geralt pulled a chair up next to his bed and took the sleeping witcher’s hand in his, feeling his pulse on his wrist. Alive. He held Jaskier’s hand for hours, just looking at his face. Eventually, without his knowledge, Geralt’s eyes fluttered closed and he fell asleep.

He awoke with a start when he heard the door open, reaching for his sword. He relaxed when he saw that it was just the kindly healer. The room was dark, but the man had brought a candle which he placed on the bedside table and Roach’s saddlebag which he gave to Geralt.

“Calm yourself, witcher. I’m just here to move my things to another room.” He said, gathering his bags and going to the door. “It’s a good thing you got here when you did. He wouldn’t have made it much longer.”

“I know,” Geralt replied, looking over at his dear friend.

Alone with Jaskier once more, Geralt leaned back in his seat. He took Jaskier’s lute from the saddlebag after putting it on the ground. There was a scratch on the front along with a splatter of blood. Geralt didn’t know whose it was. He didn’t really want to, either.

As he moved to put it back, he heard the covers shift.

“Geralt, where are we?” Jaskier croaked.

“Jask, you’re awake! I thought I’d lost you, you were hardly breathing and your heartbeat, I didn’t think you were going to wake up,” Geralt replied.

“It’s going to take far more than a knife to get rid of me. Eight lives left, after all.” the taller replied with a smirk. It quickly faded when he saw the look on his companion’s face. “Geralt, are you alright?”

“When I was holding you, I thought you were going to die in my arms. When I left you in the care of the healer, I thought you were going to die in this room with a stranger. When I came back in here when he was done, I thought you were going to die in this bed without knowing I was here, without knowing-” He stopped.

“Without knowing what?”

“Without knowing how much I care about you. I do, Jask, I care so much and it was terrifying to know that you were dying and that I wasn’t going to be able to fix it. Jaskier, I never want to be left wondering about you, whether you’re alive or not or if I will ever see you again. Will you stay with me, come to Kaer Morhen with me?” Geralt asked, meeting Jaskier’s eyes.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, taking the other witcher’s hands in his, “nothing in this world would make me happier.”


	2. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a light, fluffy, kinda spicy piece that takes place a couple of months after the first one shot, where the lads have made it to Kaer Morhen. I adjusted the formatting on this one and the previous, so hopefully it will be easier to read. Enjoy!  
> Approx 1.2K CW// Language and Implied Sexy Time

Beams of sunlight landed on Jaskier’s face, stirring him from his sleep. He squinted at the traitorous curtains and rolled over. His face was mere inches away from Geralt’s. A wistful sigh escaped his lips as he gazed on his darling’s sleeping face. 

Geralt looked peaceful. A thin line of drool had dried at the corner of his mouth and his snowy hair covered his eyes. Still, he was the most beautiful person Jaskier had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Whether angry, happy, or something in between, he was always beautiful.

After brushing back the stray hairs, Jaskier rested his hand on Geralt’s cheek. It was stubbly, but still soft. There was a thin scar on his cheekbone which the other witcher loved to trace, and, in the summer, light freckles dotted his nose. Only a few were left, stubborn little stars in a moon pale sky.

“Who did I please that fate brought us together?” Jaskier sighed, wiping away the dried drool.

“Hmm?” Geralt asked, his eyes fluttering open. 

He turned his head and kissed Jaskier’s palm. Breathing deeply, he pulled the taller witcher closer, tangling his hands in his hair. Jaskier sighed into his shoulder and held him just as tightly.

“I wonder who I pleased that I was able to meet you, to be with you,” he whispered, burying his face in Geralt’s neck.

“I ask myself the same thing. Then, in another life, I can do it again.” 

“You know, you’re almost as sappy as I am when you’re tired.”

Geralt chuckled and adjusted himself so that he was eye to eye with Jaskier. Cupping his lover’s face in his hands, he gently kissed him. The kiss then became deeper and deeper, parting only for a gasp of air. When they separated again, their faces were flushed and breathing labored.

“May I?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed.

Without hesitation, Jaskier flipped Geralt on his back and straddled his waist. He moved from Geralt’s mouth to his jaw to his throat, kissing all the way down. When he reached his lover’s neck, he bit the tender skin, eliciting a quiet moan. He peppered Geralt’s neck with bite marks and bruises, much to the pleasure of them both. Continuing on, he moved to Geralt’s collar bone and chest in a similar fashion. Lower and lower he went. Louder and louder the White Wolf howled.

It was mid afternoon when the couple descended from their bedchamber. Jaskier in a light shirt, Geralt in armor up to the neck.

“Morning, gentlemen,” called Jaskier, a wide grin on his face.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Lambert replied snidely from across the courtyard, “good thing Vesemir decided to wait until the two of you were done. First day here and you’re already late for training.”

Geralt grumbled, snatching up swords for both him and Jaskier.

“Alright, Lambert and Jaskier, you two pair up. Eskel, you’re with Geralt. Begin when you’re ready,” Vesemir proclaimed, leaning against a fencepost.

Lambert and Jaskier lunged at each other, blades gleaming like lightning. They seemed to be evenly matched, despite their notable height difference. Strike after strike, parry after parry, neither had the advantage.

“You need to work on your right side, it’s off,” Lambert explained, feinting left.

“I got stabbed a few months ago, so I’m still working on it.” Jaskier replied, seeing through his opponent.

“Cat School, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It did make me adaptable, though.”

“Very true, but you’re still a bit slow on your right parries.”

“If I’m so slow, why haven’t you hit me?”

“Touché.”

Across the courtyard, a less chatty match was going. Eskel and Geralt knew each other’s fighting as well as their own. Their sparring was more like a chess match than a sword fight. More time was spent circling and analyzing one another than blade to blade combat. Still, both fought hard when the steel did meet. Each searched for an opening, any weakness at all, to exploit.

“Fuck!”

Geralt’s attention snapped from Eskel to Jaskier, fear mounting in his chest. A sigh of relief left him when he saw that the only injury his lover had gotten was to his ego. Returning his focus to his opponent, he swept Eskel’s legs out from under him. A smug grin split his face as he helped his friend to his feet.

“You know,” Eskel began, dusting off his trousers, “I could’ve beaten you when you got distracted back there.”

“But you didn’t,” Geralt replied.

The sparring continued until sunset, alternating partners until they were spent. After trudging back into the halls of Kaer Morhen, the witchers started their annual tradition of sharing stories of the path over mugs of ale. Laughter echoed throughout the empty stone castle. Lambert bragged about his newest scar. Eskel explained his new findings on kikimora. Vesemir talked about how Kaedwen seemed to have an absurd number of ghouls. Soon, the three of them were staring expectantly at Geralt and Jaskier.

“So, Jaskier, tell us about yourself. How did you meet our dear White Wolf?” Vesemir asked.

“Ah, well, we met in Oxenfurt. I was already there for a performance when I heard about a contract. Students were disappearing from the university, so I decided to take it up. The captain of the guard and I were in the middle of a discussion when he-” Jaskier brushed back a stray hair from Geralt’s forehead “-barged in as if he owned the place. Then, he insisted that he take up the contract as well. We ended up working together on the investigation and, it turns out, a pack of bruxae was living in the sewers!”

Geralt watched as Jaskier continued on with the story, embellishing and exaggerating. His heart warmed seeing how his lover got on with his family. Even Lambert seemed to like him. He kept thinking back to what Jaskier had said that morning. About what he did to meet him. Geralt found himself wondering that same thing. How did he manage to find someone so gentle and strong?

“Geralt, are you with me?” Jaskier asked. His brows were knit together with concern.

“Ah, no, what was it you asked?” Geralt replied.

“Can you tell them what happened the night I got stabbed? I don’t remember it.”

“Yes, I can do that. We were camping, then bandits attacked. One of them stabbed Jask and neither of us had any Swallow, so I brought him to an inn. A healer fixed him. Then we went to Novigrad.”

“Your story telling skills are unmatched, Geralt,” Lambert commented, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“I know, I should’ve been a bard,” Geralt answered with an equal attitude.

After a laugh, the merrymaking continued until well into the night. It was almost dawn by the time Jaskier and Geralt made their way to their room. The curtains were still slightly drawn, making the reddening sky visible. With all of the dramatic flair needed, Jaskire closed them and flopped onto the bed.

“Do you need help with your armor, dearest?” He asked, kicking off his boots.

“No, I’ve got it,” Geralt replied.

After a moment, he settled into bed, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He buried his face in his chest and muttered something.

“Hm?” His already half asleep lover intoned.

“Morning, Jask.”

“Morning, Geralt.”


End file.
